Stephanie Grace Whitson - [Quilt Chronicles]

by Shadow on the Quilt

  Cass wanted her to trust him. Especially after his meeting with Mr. Duncan this morning. She might need a friend in coming days, and he was in a unique place to help her. At least he thought so. He understood more about the business than anyone else. That might prove fortunate at some point. When it came right down to it, George Duncan reminded him of a vulture circling until the time was right to dive in and savor the spoils of death.

  The minute he thought of the analogy, he could almost hear Sadie teasing him. Aren’t you the dramatic one? Sadie. What would become of her, now?

  Climbing down from the entryway—Jessup would begin the steps up to the front door in a couple of days—Cass whistled for Baron. An answering whinny led him to the other side of the stone cottage they’d built first on the site. At the moment, the house served as an office and center of business for the massive undertaking that would result in the biggest house in Lincoln. Someday it would house a groundskeeper. A hobbled Baron was grazing contentedly beneath one of the mature cottonwoods growing near the house. Before long, Cass was headed back toward town and supper with Ma, Sadie, and Ludwig Meyer.

  At the far edge of the Sutton property, he pulled Baron up and looked back at the house. The tops of the chimneys glowed red, reflecting the last of the day’s sunshine. From this distance, he might be looking at all that was left of a once fine home gone to ruin, or at progress toward the realization of a dream. As he nudged Baron into an easy lope, Cass wondered which version of the site would prove to be true.

  CHAPTER 7

  Above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.

  1 PETER 4:8

  Have I sprouted horns?” Sadie took Cass’s hat and placed it on the shelf just inside Mr. Meyer’s front door.

  Cass shook his head and teased, “Horns wouldn’t be as big a change.” He inspected the striped calico skirt, the white waist with the brooch pinned in place at the high neckline.

  “You could be a schoolmarm.”

  Sadie reached up to smooth her hair. “There’s no need to be unkind.” She laughed.

  Cass protested. “It’s a good change. You look sweet.”

  “Did you hear what he just said?” Sadie called to Ma, who was standing at the stove dipping a ladle into the juices surrounding a roasted bird and pouring them over the browned carcass.

  “I did.” Ma nodded and looked up with a smile. “And I agree.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. “Sweet? I am not sweet.” She nudged Cass’s arm. “I’m … saucy.” She looked down at her skirt and gave a dramatic sigh. “It’s really a shame that Ludwig has such horrific taste. I detest this shade of green. But I couldn’t exactly do my own shopping today dressed in a blue silk dressing gown.” She motioned toward the table. “I hope you don’t mind sitting in a rocker. There’s only two proper chairs. Ludwig sits on that stool.”

  “And where is Ludwig?”

  “Here.” Meyer stepped in the back door. “We were out of coffee.”

  Sadie leaned close and murmured, “Be nice. He’s nervous about officially meeting you.”

  Meyer handed Ma a small paper bag and then stood, hat in hand, gazing at Sadie with an expression that made Cass feel like an intruder. Instead of settling in the rocker, he offered to grind the coffee beans and joined Ma near the stove. In moments, the four of them were seated around Meyer’s small table, exclaiming over the delicious meal.

  “You were right,” Meyer said to Sadie as he took a bite of a biscuit. “The best I’ve ever eaten.”

  “And you,” Sadie said, leaning toward Cass, “got your wish. I’m not going back to Goldie’s.” She grinned. “Put your eyes back in your head, Brother.” She nodded at Meyer. “Tell him.”

  Meyer gulped. “I’ve finally saved enough to open my own store. I have asked Sadie and Mrs. Nash to join me in that endeavor.”

  Cass glanced at Ma. He’d been dreaming of them all living together as a family again for a long time. It didn’t look like that was going to happen.

  “I haven’t given him my answer,” Ma said, smiling at Mr. Meyer. “But I very much appreciate being included in the invitation.”

  Meyer glanced at Sadie. “Sadie says that I should ask if Sutton Builders might take on the building.”

  “New construction?”

  Meyer nodded. “In Roca, to the south of Lincoln. It’s a growing place, thanks to the—”

  “Stone quarries,” Cass said. “I know.”

  “Of course.” Meyer nodded. “You would.”

  Sadie spoke up. “Ma said we should look for work. As it happens, work came looking for us. In Ludwig’s store.”

  Meyer cleared his throat. “There is something else, Mr. Gregory.” His face reddened. “I mean to marry your sister if she will have me.” He gazed across the table at her.

  “But we aren’t rushing into it,” Sadie said quickly.

  From the look on Meyer’s face, Cass gathered that waiting was Sadie’s idea. She seemed to realize she’d hurt him. “Although Ludwig has many fine qualities.” She smiled at him. “He’s kind.”

  Meyer shrugged. “And too shy.”

  “Hardworking,” Sadie countered.

  “Only a storekeeper and likely never to be more. Not handsome.

  Not rich.”

  “Thank God.” When Meyer looked confused, Sadie reached across the table and took his hand. “I’ve known plenty of handsome, rich men, Ludwig. None of them ever actually saw me. You do. You know I’m afraid of—”

  “Spiders.”

  “And my favorite color is—”

  “Red.”

  “And I grew up in—”

  “Kansas.”

  “And my mother is—”

  “The kind of woman you hope to be.”

  Ma looked at Sadie, who nodded. “Exactly.”

  Meyer looked at Cass. “I know all of these things about her, but still she will not marry me. Yet.”

  Sadie changed the subject. “So what do you say, Brother? Will you build Meyer’s Mercantile? Ludwig wants a stone building. I told him you’re an expert.”

  Cass sat back. “I’ve supervised jobs, but I’m no stonemason, and the job I’m working on will take the rest of the summer and into the fall.”

  “Mrs. Sutton’s mansion,” Meyer said.

  “You know about it.”

  “All of Lincoln knows about it.” Meyer shook his head. “Today is a sad day for her.” He looked up at Cass. “And for you. And for poor Nell Parker’s friends.”

  Sadie got up—Cass thought abruptly—and refilled everyone’s coffee cups.

  “Was she a friend?” Cass asked.

  Sadie shrugged.

  Ma spoke up. “Nell was—difficult. Unhappy.”

  “Let us hope she has found peace,” Meyer said.

  Sadie sat back down. “You should take Ludwig’s job, Cass. If you get booted when the smoke clears—no pun intended—you’ll still have a job. It never hurts to have a backup plan.”

  She didn’t want to talk about the fire. So be it. Cass nodded. “It couldn’t hurt.” He looked at Meyer. “I’ll tell you what. We’ve got a great stonemason. I could mention your job to him. See if he’s interested.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Sadie grinned. “Meyer’s Mercantile is on its way.” She leaned over and kissed Meyer’s cheek before serving up another helping of potatoes. “But you are going to have to agree to let me order the ready-to-wear.” She glanced over at Cass. “My brother thinks I look like a sweet schoolmarm. That is not acceptable.”

  Infernal rooster. Juliana had just managed to fall into a deep sleep when Martha’s prized rooster announced dawn. With a weary groan, she grabbed a pillow and put it over her head, willing herself to sleep more. But the rooster crowed again. And again. So Juliana threw the pillow off and lay, counting the roses on the bedroom wallpaper and trying to stave off conscious thought. It didn’t work.

  Sliding out of bed, she reached for h
er wrapper and headed into the hall. Intending to go out onto the balcony for a moment, she paused just outside, savoring the aromas of fresh coffee and warm bread wafting up from the kitchen. She was hungry. Instead of heading out onto the balcony, she padded downstairs.

  Martha was setting up a breakfast tray, obviously intending to take it upstairs. She glanced up. “Thought I’d offer breakfast in bed to anyone who wanted it.” She frowned. “Guess I don’t have to ask if you slept well.”

  “Do I look that bad?” Juliana sat down at the kitchen table.

  Martha poured coffee and set it before her, then put a hand on her shoulder. “When Alfred drives into town today, you should have him stop at Dr. Gilbert’s for something to help you sleep.”

  “Not necessary,” Juliana said. “Just kill the rooster.” But Martha had raised the current king of the henhouse, and the attempt at levity fell flat. “You know I don’t mean that.”

  Martha hefted the tray and headed for the back stairs. “Lots of fresh air and sunshine out there this morning. If a person was so inclined, they might think it a good morning to take a ride.”

  “Are you kicking me out of the house?” Juliana reached for the stack of paper they’d left on the table after getting back from Lindermann’s yesterday. “I’ve run off on the aunts twice now. If I do it again, they may not be so understanding.”

  “Pastor isn’t expected until midmorning. There’s plenty of time.” Martha headed on upstairs. Juliana glanced through the kitchen windows to where Tecumseh was prancing around his small pasture, tossing his head, half rearing, spinning about, reveling in the beautiful spring morning.

  Juliana looked down at the paper in her hand. Pallbearers. She wrote George Duncan and Harry Graham. Both men would probably call sometime today. Bankers and lawyers never wasted time circling the wreckage—at least that’s what Sterling always said. She filled out the rest of the list with friends from the Odd Fellows and the G.A.R. encampment. She would ask Aunt Theodora to look it over. She could be counted on to know what was what when it came to who might be offended if not included. Juliana set the list aside and reached for the piece of paper Miss Thornhill had given them at the shop yesterday.

  RECOMMENDED FOR LADIES

  FULL MOURNING

  FIRST YEAR

  DRESSES

  One best dress of bombazine, trimmed entirely with crape

  One dress trimmed with rainproof crape

  MANTLES & JACKETS

  One mantle lined with silk and deeply trimmed with crape

  One warmer jacket, trimmed with crape

  BONNETS

  One bonnet of best silk crape, with long veil

  One bonnet of rainproof crape, with crape veil

  ACCESSORIES

  Twelve collars and cuffs of muslin or lawn, with deep hems

  One black, stiff petticoat

  Four pair black hose

  Two dozen handkerchiefs with black borders:

  Twelve cambric for ordinary use

  Twelve of finer cambric for better occasions

  Mourning was an expensive endeavor. Miss Thornhill thought she might be able to remake the bonnet Juliana had worn when mourning Mama and Papa a few years ago, but with the need for a widow’s veil, she’d have to see it to be sure. And the line had changed in recent years. The black petticoat Juliana already owned might not work, either. Alfred was to take everything that needed to be refashioned into town for them later today. But first, Juliana had to collect it all. Thinking about it made her head hurt.

  Martha came back downstairs. “The aunts are taking tea up in their sitting room,” she said. “You’re to come up if you’d like.”

  “Are they all right?”

  Martha nodded. “Just taking it a little slower this morning. Gathering what they need to send to Miss Thornhill. Reminiscing about when Mr. Sutton was a boy.”

  Juliana took a deep breath. “Last night I thought I heard him coming upstairs. I actually sat up in bed and looked at the door, waiting for him to enter. That’s insane.”

  “From what I know about it, most people experience things like that.” Martha ducked into the pantry and returned, dust cloth in hand. “As long as you know it isn’t real, you aren’t insane. You start having conversations with an empty chair; we’ll start to worry.”

  Juliana laid the notice from Miss Thornhill’s aside. She really should go upstairs and sort through the wardrobe. She might even have to check the attic. “What time did you say you’re expecting Pastor Taylor?”

  “Around ten o’clock. Thought I’d head into the library and freshen things up a bit. Open the windows, let the morning breeze blow through.”

  Juliana glanced upstairs. “Do you think Aunt Theodora will come down to meet with him? She has to be furious with me over what I’ve done.”

  “Don’t you worry. Miss Lydia will smooth her ruffled feathers. And furious or not, Miss Theodora would never snub a minister.”

  Juliana rose to follow Martha up the hall. “I think I’ll open the windows in the parlor, too.”

  The memory of Francis Burnham lingering in the parlor doorway set her teeth on edge. Drawing the drapes, she drew back the inner shutters and raised the windows. Fresh air wafted into the room, rustling the fronds of the potted fern on the plant stand in the corner.

  She hadn’t paid very much attention to Aunt Lydia’s quilt project, other than to pay the requisite fifty cents to put her name on it. Now, she took a minute to look it over, remembering the committee meeting that had taken place right here in the parlor last fall. She’d breezed through on her way to a board meeting in town, but even in that short moment of greeting and wishing them well, she’d envied Aunt Lydia and her quilting friends their enthusiasm for the project and the obvious camaraderie among them as they selected patterns and planned colors so that the colors on the quilt would be balanced.

  They’d recruited women to piece sixty quilt blocks. A few weeks later, when they’d gathered up the finished blocks, they met again to decide how to arrange them, laying the finished blocks out on the parlor floor. Home that day with a slight cold, Juliana had lingered only long enough to make certain the women knew they were welcome. She’d kept her opinion to herself, but she thought the potpourri of blocks a hopeless hodgepodge. Now that she took time to look at the finished top in the frame, she realized that Aunt Lydia had an eye for design. She’d set the blocks on point with a narrow stripe as the sashing, and the result was really quite lovely.

  Juliana sat down at the quilt. Piecing the individual blocks had only been the beginning of the project. Next came the gathering of signatures, with each person donating fifty cents for signing the quilt. Sterling’s name was on it somewhere. So was Juliana’s, although not on the same block as his. How apropos.

  Sterling had offered to gather signatures and tucked a block in his coat pocket one day on his way out the door. When he returned it, he’d charged the signers ten times what the committee had. Lydia had protested when he handed her fifty dollars for the ten signatures, but Sterling just smiled and said it was for a good cause and he’d only had to break one arm to get them to pay up.

  President Arthur’s signature was on the center block. Aunt Lydia had been thrilled when it arrived in the post one day, a strong signature on a square of muslin, the ink so dark brown it was almost black. Most of the signatures had been applied with a pencil and then embroidered over. But no one was going to embroider over the name Chester A. Arthur. Aunt Lydia had spent hours piecing a special block with the president’s signature in the center of a sunburst.

  Juliana leaned down, reading some of the names. George Duncan. Mrs. G. C. Duncan. Harold Graham. Mrs. H. C. Graham. James W. Dawes. Sterling really had gone all out to get the governor’s signature. And then, Sterling Sutton. She traced the letters with her index finger then read more names. Marvin Lindermann. Pamelia Lindermann.

  Juliana caught her breath. Mr. Lindermann was a widower. Who was Pamelia Lindermann?

  She f
rowned. “Martha.”

  Martha came to the door.

  “The Lindermanns didn’t have a daughter, did they?”

  “Not that I know of. I believe a niece was here for a while last year, keeping house for Mr. Lindermann.”

  “But she’s not here now.”

  “I don’t think so.” Martha came to the door. “Maybe the funeral business bothered her. I recall that Alfred overheard an argument. Mr. Lindermann had asked him to come by to finalize some plans for Deacon Hobart’s service last summer. He said the young lady came out of the back room and scurried upstairs without paying him any mind. She was very distraught, but when Alfred expressed concern, Mr. Lindermann said that the matter had been resolved and Miss P—” Martha swallowed. She covered her mouth.

  “Miss Pamelia.”

  Martha nodded. “Yes. Miss Pamelia had decided that she should make her home elsewhere.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, missus.” She took a step into the parlor, but Juliana waved her away.

  “Just—give me a moment. I’ll be … all right.” She sat staring at the name. Pamelia Lindermann. P. L. Perhaps she should give the locket upstairs to Mr. Lindermann. Wouldn’t that be something?

  She looked down at the names on the quilt. Had it really only been moments ago when she’d been tracing Sterling’s signature, remembering happy times and longing for another chance? Here it was again. The anger. Use it.

  Aunt Lydia’s workbasket stood beside the quilt. Opening it, she took out the silver sewing scissors. She paused, her hand poised over the quilt. And then she slipped the silver sheath off the blades and began to snip threads. In less than a moment, the name Pamelia Lindermann was little more than a shadow on the quilt.

  Returning the scissors to Aunt Lydia’s workbasket, Juliana plucked the loose threads into the palm of her hand. Opening the front door, she let the spring breeze blow them away. Having heard the front door open, Martha came into the hall. Poor Martha. The look on her face.